


A Congregation of Princes

by witchkings



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Doriath, Double Penetration, M/M, Smut, Threesome, affair, thirsty!thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25950898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchkings/pseuds/witchkings
Summary: On a cold night in deserted Menegroth, Thingol and Thranduil enter into a precarious sexual relationship that is as fulfilling as it is daring. They tread carefully, always in danger of being found out... until they are. And when Celeborn discovers them, Thranduil realizes he wants more.
Relationships: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Thranduil (Tolkien), Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Thranduil (Tolkien)/Celeborn
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	A Congregation of Princes

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't much to say about this. It's blatant smut so if you are here for that good on you, I hope you enjoy it thoroughly! If you are here for a good story, however, you might want to look elsewhere haha. 
> 
> After this I'm thinking there will be some CelebornxThranduil in my future. *smirks*
> 
> Have a nice week, whoever you are :)

I.

It started as a trifle. An off-hand remark. A joke, if you will.

It started with a bored wannabe prince roaming the halls of his hometown which was deserted due to a festival going on in the woods. A king that had stayed behind to finalize the bureaucracy of a renewed minerals and ores trade agreement with some grumpy dwarfs.

It started when Thranduil, his mind on travel preparations - he didn’t want to miss any more of the celebrations than he already had - bumped into Thingol who muttered numbers under his breath and had faint circles under his eyes. His hair braided in a perfunctory headdress. Thranduil knew it had been a tough week for him, filled with work and pestering dwarfs. Still, Thingol brightened when he saw Thranduil.

“My king,” Thranduil said with a cheerful smile and bowed his head. Thought better of it and fell into a curtesy.

“Thranduil, how are you?”

“Ah, you know me. Late to the festivities and drunk on excitement. But that is of no interest to you, surely. How is mylord doing?”

“Reasonably well given the incompetence I have had to deal with,” Thingol replied, a scowl hushing over his face. He shook his head and regained his composure. “Stubborn little creatures, have robbed me of my days and when darkness falls, sleep evades me.”

“I am sorry to hear it, I suppose your nights must be cold with the absence of the queen. Alas, there is little I can do to aid you, mylord,” Thranduil said with a bright grin. He thought nothing of it, and Thingol laughed, grey eyes crinkling around the edges. It made his beauty all the more startling, his cheeks aglow with the light of Valinor and Thranduil felt blessed to call this marvellous creature his king.

“Indeed, they are.” A ripple tore through the air between them that momentarily stole away Thranduil’s breath. No, he thought nothing of it, not even when Thingol squeezed his shoulder in a rare gesture of familiarity. They bid each other a good day and once the king was out of sight, the topic of their conversation was nearly forgotten. The magic of it, however, clung to Thranduil.

II.

Later that night, Thranduil was torn out of a meditative bout of sword-sharpening by a knock on the door of his chambers. He wore little more than undergarments and a light dressing gown of soft cotton that rustled and whispered as he glided across the carpeted floor. Wonderment softening his features into a small smile. His friends and family had ridden out already. A servant perhaps? But with what?

He opened the door and the smile died on his lips, replaced by surprise.

“My king?”

“Thranduil, dear,” Thingol said. He looked refreshed, a spark about him that was at once intelligent and mischievous. His hair was no longer restrained by braids and hung freely down his chest in endless streams of silver that threatened to hypnotize Thranduil. He too wore a casual gown, all jewellery discarded, his crown retired for the night. If Thranduil hadn’t been so close to the royal family through ties of his father’s, this would have been outright scandalous. “May I come in?”

Wide-eyed, Thranduil stepped aside, hair obscuring his view as he hung his head. A gale followed Thingol into the room, thick with the earthy perfume of the woods and their king, and it moved Thranduil’s heart. Gently, he closed the door and drew his flimsy vesture tighter about himself feeling suddenly exposed. Thingol stood in the middle of the room, more at ease than Thranduil had ever seen him. Eyes half-lidded. Posture viscose. Basking in the moonlight that fell through the one window, soaking it up. It was a sight that stunned Thranduil into reverent silence.

“I thought about it,” Thingol said and moved towards Thranduil who was rooted to the spot. Uncurled each of the fingers that were clamped tightly around the band of his robes. Thranduil’s arms fell to his side, useless. His heart pounded to his head, erratic, confused. But it wasn’t just that now. A static build up between them, a force field of electricity that seeped under Thranduil’s skin and made his whole body thrum with energy. Thingol smiled, and cocked his head to the side. Used his big, warm hands to slide the gown off Thranduil’s shoulders so he stood in naught but his short-breeches. Cupped Thranduil’s cheeks with one palm, his hip with the other, and drew him closer. Thranduil trembled in his king’s hold, bodily reactions going mayhem. “Your offer would be enticing even if my nights were warmer.” The king leaned in, lips grazing Thranduil’s jaw. A spike of arousal had Thranduil’s breath stutter. He hadn’t realized he wanted this. How desperately he wanted this. “But the fact that they are oh so very cold makes it inevitable.”

“Offer, mylord?” Thranduil whispered, eyes falling shut.

“Do not feign ignorance with me.” And Thingol surged forward, slamming Thranduil into the door behind him and united their lips in a ferocious kiss. The whole line of his body pressed against Thranduil’s, a betraying bulge against his naked thigh that had Thranduil gasp into the kiss. His mind couldn’t keep up with what his body already knew. His king was going to do more than just use him as a bed warmer. Was going to ask intimate and vulgar things of him. Was going to touch him in manners unspeakable and grand. And Thranduil would offer himself fully, like a platter of delicious fruit.

It was a night to remember and afterward, they traversed in a closer orbit, one that had them collide in frantic acts of passion when possible, the gravity of it inescapable. Thranduil thrived with his king’s attentions and Thingol too seemed centuries younger. It was brilliant and fulfilling and more often than not, Thranduil found himself daydreaming of their next encounter. But there was another side to this particular coin. It was sodomy and adultery. It was more than wrong. 

“And we cannot get caught,” Thingol would growl into Thranduil’s ears when they were entangled and engaged with each other. “No matter the cost.”

III.

Alas, the fateful day came.

IV.

In all their time together, Thranduil and Thingol had gotten creative finding ways to circumnavigate the most obvious hindrance to their encounters. The king’s wife. This was easier on dew-laden late winter and early spring days when the hibernating animals did not yet dare to tread freely, and the plants needed coercing to bloom and blossom. Queen Melian liked to wander the forest’s paths in those short periods of light to aid the process and bring life back to their realm and her absences made for the most delicious pouches of time.

It was one of those days when a note arrived at Thranduil’s door during the long hours of the afternoon. An invitation for a private audience with the king. Naturally, this meant Thranduil brushed his hair, rushed to the royal chambers. Naturally, this meant he was half-hard and panting when he reached them. Naturally, this meant Thingol would receive him with open-mouthed kisses, tearing his clothes off as soon as the door was closed.

Thranduil let himself be undressed and guided towards the bed that smelled not of the flowery aromas of the queen but had been redone. Silken and soapy and a feathery kiss against Thranduil’s skin when Thingol pushed him onto it.

“It was good of you to come,” Thingol said, smiling slyly as he slipped out of his own robes. Revealing his body for Thranduil to marvel at. Revealing defined muscle and unblemished skin and hollows whose tastes he knew well, and needed more of. Revealing finally his great girth, which made Thranduil want to reach out and stroke it and take into his mouth.

“Not today,” Thingol said.

“Why not?” Thranduil asked, batting his lashes up at his king, but Thingol made a circling gesture with his hand. Obediently, Thranduil turned around, on all fours.

“Because I would have you like this.” There was a vial of oil on the nightstand, preparations no doubt, and Thingol kissed Thranduil’s back as he worked him open with agonizing and slow fingers that wandered, trailed heat all over him, inside of him, had him sweating and panting.

At last, Thingol positioned himself behind Thranduil and pressed the tip of his erection to his entrance. Pressed into Thranduil, deliberately slow.

“More,” he panted into the pillow as Thingol slid in all the way. It was a grace, to be stretched open by his king, to have him fill him inside and out as he hovered over Thranduil, chest pressed to his back. But something was different today. He felt a bestial hunger, insatiable and wild, in the pit of his stomach and while his muscles clenched around Thingol he couldn’t help but think it was not enough. “Please, mylord, I need more.”

“Am I not enough for you?” Thingol said lightly and buried his hand in Thranduil’s hair, gripping it. “It seems I have spoiled you too badly.”

“That is not it,” Thranduil cried out. Stars of pleasure burst in his chest, but the cavity was growing. A heat he could not escape. “I need-“

“Perhaps I could help out,” a new voice said. Thingol froze in his thrusts and Thranduil mewled in shock, disappointment, pleasure, yes that too. They both turned their heads towards the door were Celeborn leaned against the frame. Arms crossed, a pliant smirk on his lips. He wore his seafoam hair open, the wind having blown gentle waves through it, and was clad in a shiny robe that was decorated with swirling patterns of embroidered pearls as if he had risen from the very oceans. A single sapphire garnished his thumb that emanated sparks of aquatic light. An envoy of Ulmo himself, there to tow them under. Or perhaps… Thranduil shuddered. Thingol’s hand on his hip lapped at his sanity. He tasted the salt of his own perspiration on his upper lip.

“Lord Celeborn,” Thingol said, his voice deep and rumbling. Stronger than the riptide whose lips were curled into a self-satisfied smirk. A betraying bulge unsettling the satin surface of his garment. The tremble of Thingol’s body behind Thranduil, over him, inside of him had him convulse again. No matter how still he tried to remain, he could not. He was so hungry. So ferally, horridly, wretchedly hungry. It was this, together with the coral flush he noticed in Celeborn’s cheeks that had the vision of the godly messenger shatter. Before Thingol could say what he meant to, Thranduil was growling.

“How dare you barge into the king’s chambers? How dare you interrupt his dealings?”

“My, my, Thranduil,” Celeborn drawled and stepped into the room, gently closing the door behind himself.

“What is the meaning of this,” Thingol demanded.

“Forgive me my king,” Celeborn said. He stopped before the bed and sank to his knees, head bowed. The pleasure he felt at being there surrounded him like an aura. “I knocked thrice and received no answer. When I heard dear Thranduil’s voice I thought it safe to enter.”

“How long have you been watching? Answer quickly or I shall have you exiled at once.” Celeborn looked up again. The smile had faded from his lips, but his gaze was dark and lustful, fixed on Thranduil’s as he spoke.

“Long enough to know that I may be of use to your purpose.” He raised an eyebrow and Thranduil felt more blood rush to his lower parts. Did Celeborn suggest to… he could not. Could he? The thought made his lids flutter.

“Celeborn,” Thingol said through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“I have no ulterior motive, my lord. I only mean to _fulfil_ the needs of our mutual friend. If you would let me.” Thingol was quiet for a long moment in which both Celeborn and Thranduil held their breaths. It was a precarious thing, this proposition, but as far as Thranduil saw it, there was but one choice. Thingol had to allow Celeborn to partake, if only to have something to hold against the other elf so he would not spill their secrets to the court. Celeborn held too high a position to be exiled and was too wealthy for his silence to be bought. There was only his tentative engagement to Finarfin’s daughter, Galadriel, that Thingol could use as leverage. To Thranduil’s surprise, however, Thingol broke the silence with a question directed at him.

“Do you want it, Thranduil? Is this what you crave?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said honestly. He felt heavy with desire and light with his bones hollowed out by it. Simple penetration by his king was a necessity at this point, but it could not complete him, not the way he wanted.

“Very well.” Thranduil almost whimpered as Thingol withdrew from his body and stood up from the bed, then pulled Thranduil up after him, holding him against his side with a loose arm. “Go ahead, Celeborn.”

“Thank you, my king. I am honoured to serve,” Celeborn said and got to his feet as well. Thingol and Thranduil watched as Celeborn carefully unravelled the ties on his robe which rippled to the ground around him. Slipped out of the plain tunic he wore underneath, then unlaced his boots, stepped out of them. When he was only in his breeches, considerably swelling at his crotch, he paused, waiting for Thingol’s verdict.

“Go on,” the king said and Celeborn undressed, his hardness springing free against his stomach.

“How do you propose-“ Thranduil started, but was caught off as Thingol tightened his grip on Thranduil’s ribs and pointed his free hand at Celeborn, then at the bed.

“On your back, if you please.”

Celeborn inclined his head and complied, sinking into the silken bedsheets with grace. His hair fanned out around him, smooth and shining, and he arranged his lithe limbs in a way that made Thranduil want to sink against them, trace the outlines of Celeborn’s muscles with his lips and be held against his chest. He’d never thought to look at his friend this way, had overlooked his beauty in favour of his wit and companionship. Before Thranduil could lose himself in further musings, Thingol’s warm arm around him disappeared and he gave Thranduil a gentle shove towards the bed. He approached the it slowly, heating under Celeborn’s half-lidded gaze. He glanced over his shoulder towards Thingol who stood with his arms crossed, his weight on his right leg. Whose erection was still slick with fluid and taut as a bow string. Then back to Celeborn who was equally hard, if not as thick. His belly tightened, the anticipation coiled tightly. His heart meant to beat out of his chest.

“No need to be shy,” Celeborn said as Thranduil crawled onto the bed, settling between his friend’s legs. Unsure of what to do.

“Thranduil,” Thingol said by way of relieving him of deciding his next steps. “Use the oil on Celeborn. Celeborn, prepare him.”

Thranduil crawled over Celeborn to reach the nightstand where the vial stood, half-full with the honey-coloured liquid that still ran along the inside of his thighs and coated his hole. As he did so, Celeborn murmured something indiscernible under his breath and reached out to grab Thranduil’s hips. His fingers were the opposite of Thingol’s, not hot and rough, but cool and soothing. A trickle of spring water as they wandered deeper and Thranduil stilled, hovering over his friend, one elbow placed beside his ribcage. Trembling, he thumbed open the vial, but before he could put it to use, Celeborn pulled him closer. Pushed one of those long fingers inside. Thranduil moaned, the fire within him rekindled with a monstrous ferocity. The vial nearly slipped from his hand as he collapsed against Celeborn’s smooth, sweet skin and his friend welcomed him in a tight embrace, adding a second finger.

“If I had known you to be so enthusiastic, I would have taken you to bed a long time ago. I always thought you to be a bit of a prude,” Celeborn murmured against Thranduil’s hair. Before Thranduil could retort, another finger pushed inside of him and he groaned. It was a start, but not close to where he wanted to be. Had to be. He focused hard on the vial, coated his hand. It slipped from his grasp and spilled onto the bed. No time to care for it, no will when Celeborn worked him open with quick movements that burned exquisitely. Thranduil panted against his friend’s skin and brought his oil-slick hand to Celeborn’s erection. He made quick work of slicking him up, no patience for delicacies as he stroked the length of it. Celeborn’s breath caught and his movements got jerky for a bit before they found a rhythm that worked for them both and ere Thranduil knew it, four of Celeborn’s fingers were buried inside of him. Their sweat mingled where they were pressed up against each other and if Celeborn kept up those clever little movements, Thranduil wasn’t going to hold out much longer, he was-

“That is quite enough,” Thingol commanded, tearing them out of the moment and shame flooded the hole in Thranduil’s chest. How could he have lost himself like this? He scrambled back from Celeborn, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Celeborn smiled serenely, loose-limbed and slick with oil.

“I reiterate,” he said, and bedded his head on his crossed arms. Nudged his chin towards Thingol, who had stepped up to the bed and clambered atop it behind Thranduil. Thranduil sighed when his king grabbed him by the waist and pulled him against his chest, both situated between Celeborn’s legs. Thingol pushed aside Thranduil’s hair to nuzzle and kiss his neck, bite at the tip of his ear.

“Do not forget where you truly belong,” he growled against Thranduil’s over sensitized skin.

“I had not taken you for the possessive kind,” Celeborn commented.

“Silence,” Thingol said. “Do not speak another word until I allow it.”

Magically, Celeborn kept his mouth shut. Celeborn who always had a clever remark at the ready. Celeborn who could never keep his sharp tongue to himself.

“Please,” Thranduil whimpered.

“Of course.” Thingol used both hands on Thranduil’s hips to guide him forward and onto Celeborn’s lap. With his knees to either side of his friend, and his king to guide him, Thranduil sank onto Celeborn’s length until it was fully buried. They both moaned in tandem and Celeborn’s hips bucked, but Thranduil was held in place and so was he. By their king. By their salvation.

Thingol pushed Thranduil forward so that he leaned over Celeborn once more, then moved up, his whole body pressed against Thranduil’s backside. Hot, raging skin above him, drowning him in a tempest of carnal flame. Cool, soothing flesh underneath him, inside of him, fighting that which threatened to tear him apart. Thranduil was caught in the middle of it, torn between two forces. He quivered. Shook violently when Thingol’s fingers found where Celeborn’s and his bodies melted together and worked him wider, deeper, harder until finally, he pushed his own girth into Thranduil, flush against Celeborn’s with a determined thrust.

It was too much. It was splitting him open, ripping him apart. It was blinding white pain, hot red desire, it was everything and it was too much.

“Easy,” Thingol said, stroking Thranduil’s chest, his stomach. Palming the tip of his long-abandoned erection and Thranduil let out a long wheeze that turned into a jagged moan. No one moved, not Celeborn whose face was a picture of blatant lust, not Thingol who steadily held them all in place. Not Thranduil who tried to breathe against the pain, then into it, and as the seconds ticked by, it got easier. His skin was taut, his body so full he was going to burst, but when the pain receded, it was pure bliss. This was what he had asked for, this completed him. He braced himself against Celeborn’s chest and Celeborn gripped his wrists.

“Can you take it? Be frank, I should be greatly dismayed to find I have harmed you.”

“I can take it,” Thranduil gasped. “All of it.”

Thingol pulled back the slightest fraction, and then jerked forward. The void opened up before Thranduil, his vision blacking out. This was it then, the epitome of existence. This was how Thranduil envisioned the creation of Arda, the War of the Powers. Ancient magic ravaging the earth as Thingol was him. Celeborn’s moans crashes of thunder, his own – fragmented noises that poured from his lips – the earthquakes as mountains were shattered, rivers delved, abysses opened up. Thingol’s grunts the whipping winds. It was pain and pleasure so tightly interwoven that he could not tell them apart and it mattered not. The battle picked up, Thingol accelerating his thrusts and Celeborn writhed underneath them, and Thranduil could barely keep himself up, and then he couldn’t at all when he spilled his release under incoherent gasps and Thingol had to hold him upright with a rock-solid arm, against his lava chest, and Celeborn arched his back and his hips bucked and Thranduil soiled himwith his seed and still it was not enough, too much, never enough.

“Pleaaaase,” he sobbed, being rocked and jolted with Thingol’s movements, in and out and tight, so tight. Ere the afterwaves of his orgasm had faded, Thranduil felt his muscles tighten again, the want still there, so hungry, clawing and howling. He couldn’t tell whether Celeborn had spilled too, not when his insides were a jumble of their combined girth and the oil and the sweat, all working to unravel him. Thingol’s grip became claw-like and bruising as he rutted into Thranduil.

“Oh Elbereth,” Celeborn gasped over and over. “Oh Elbereth, please.” And he jerked his hips up as best as the position allowed him, adding to the heat and tension inside of Thranduil.

“Quiet,” Thingol growled on his next thrust, skin slapping hard against Thranduil’s. The deep, lustrous edge in his voice, mixed with the barely veiled anger, ignited Thranduil’s blood and when the whole tangle of their bodies dissolved into jolting and uncoordinated movements, Celeborn and Thingol rubbing against Thranduil, against each other inside of him, hitting him deep again, and again, arhythmic, frantic to meet their own needs, Thranduil tumbled into another release. His muscles cramped up with the effort, spurts of seed hitting Celeborn across chest and face, and he let out a cry, a curse, who could tell, it was all too much. His body spent and broken and finally, Thingol pumped into him, groaning with his own orgasm. Celeborn a twitching mess underneath them.

“Are you finally satisfied,” Thingol murmured when it was all over, his heated forehead pressed to Thranduil’s damp neck.

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Yes. Thank you.”


End file.
